


Our Priorities

by gardnerhill



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Episode: s03e06 St Petersburg, Other, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gardnerhill/pseuds/gardnerhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fire exposes our priorities." – Sherlock Holmes, <i>A Scandal in Bohemia</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Priorities

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during, and contains spoilers for, the Season 3 episode "St. Petersburg."

When Carolyn Knapp-Shappey felt the crunch reverberate through her plane and saw flames engulf the engine out her window, three things shot through her mind under the peal of the firebell – 

1) That's it, it's over, we're done, Ruth was right  
2) Oh God _Arthur_ , my baby  
3) I'm going to die 

– before triage took over with the same force that had guided the CEO from the start.

"Arthur, sit!" she snapped over the pealing alarm – for Arthur clutched a seat to stay upright in the rocking craft, eyes wide with terror, shouting "Down! Get down! Down! Get down!" to the empty cabin, his voice cracking with fear – and took the expediency of yanking her son down into the seat beside her. "Sit, there's no one but us to save!"

The firebell stopped but flames still flickered from the wing. GERTI lurched like Arthur after his inadvertent dose of vodka, banked hard. Emergency landing. 

"Oh God, Mum –" 

"We'll be fine, idiot boy." Not a lie, oh NOT a lie, not like "Of course he loves you, he's your father" or "He's only leaving for a short trip, he'll be back soon" – not a lie, not a lie, not a lie – 

Belt on, seat up, bend forward, clutch knees, kiss arse goodbye – no, goddammit, a good pilot and a safe one, a good – 

"Carolyn, Arthur." Douglas' low mellifluous voice rolled through the cabin, with the strong and careless inflection of the career pilot. "We're making an emergency landing in St Petersburg. Secure yourselves, and we'll see you on the ground. Out." 

Firebell out. Wobble, lurch, descend. Arthur whimpering, "C'mon Skip get us down, you can do it – " (idiot boy, as if Douglas would let Martin handle this one). 

Now land us, you two, my rough-cut diamonds, show me what I saw in you from the beginning! Well, all right, two pilots who work free and cheap because no real airline wants either of you – but show me you know your craft despite that! Martin, you make sure that smart-arse sky-god doesn't land us on an onion-dome for larks, and I'll cut you a paycheck if I have to sell what's left of GERTI for scrap to get the cash!

*** 

Engine One off, Engine Two – Engine Two was destroyed, don't bother with the switches. No smell of smoke in the flight deck. Only alarms were from the fire trucks roaring alongside now, ready. Stopped. Down. They were down. Down, were they – 

"Golf Echo Romeo Tango India down and safe," Douglas was saying – the tower, Carolyn, Arthur. "This is co-pilot Douglas Richardson. On behalf of Captain Martin Crieff and myself, we'd like to apologize for the short duration of the flight, and the rather awkward landing. Welcome, once again, to St. Petersburg. Please enjoy the inflatable slides."

"Oh stuff it, Douglas!" Carolyn's voice cracked with relief. "We're all walking away from this one. Arthur, get up." An indistinct but unmistakeable sound. "All right, finish vomiting first." A shaky, muffled affirmative sound.

Evacuation. Undo belt, don cap (write CAPTAIN on forehead in lipstick), walk through cabin, see that all passengers – that Carolyn and Arthur were safely out before exiting – 

"Martin, I think we can just walk down the stairs." Douglas again as if he'd read his mind, but not snide or sarcastic. "You touched us down like a pro. I couldn't have done better."

He…he had. He had, hadn't he? The engine – it was like all that horrid garbage that seemed to clutter his head so much was just blown out by the fire, and all that remained was Drill and Procedure. One two three, and down goes she. It was as if he felt that wounded wing himself, that it was his flesh and bones he steered to the runway. Now every muscle ached. He… he was a pilot. He was. 

"…that you were saying?" Douglas was asking him something. 

Martin turned to his co-pilot, who looked back with genuine curiosity on his face. "I was saying?"

"On our descent. That thing you kept muttering. Leaving something on? Did you leave the lights on at your place in Fitton?"

Oh. Oh, he had said it, hadn't he? For a second Martin felt his whole face grow hot – but then it was cool again and his back straightened. It had fucking worked, hadn't it? And wasn't he the goddamn captain?

Martin smiled a little at Douglas, who blinked. "I was quoting another pilot, in something of the same boat. 'I am a leaf on the wind.' "

Douglas snorted and cocked his head. "If you're once more one with the ground, Siddhartha, it's time for us to exit and let them tow GERTI in for repairs while we enjoy the fruits of a hero's labors."

Martin undid his belt and for the first time in Douglas' experience did not automatically reach for his captain's hat as he stood and stretched. "Right now all this hero wants is a nice hot cup of coffee."


End file.
